


Reach out in the Darkness.

by wordsinthedark (VanScritto)



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanScritto/pseuds/wordsinthedark
Summary: Can't wait to spend the week with you.There's a kissy face emoji behind it and Mitch can't help but fixate on it, on the way it winks as if it were trying to personally offend him. It's not, of course, but it seems that way. No wonder Alex didn't have time to fly to Miami, if some girl is waiting with kissy face emojis.





	Reach out in the Darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Stretching my writing muscles a bit with this pairing. Enjoy.

_Can't wait to spend the week with you._

There's a kissy face emoji behind it and Mitch can't help but fixate on it, on the way it winks as if it were trying to personally offend him. It's not, of course, but it seems that way. No wonder Alex didn't have time to fly to Miami, if some girl is waiting with kissy face emojis.

He stares at the small Instagram icon of the girl, at her comment underneath Alex' post and — worst of all — at Alex' reply: _Can't wait either._ And a fucking kissy face. Mitch wants to scream, but then he'd have to explain why to the people sitting on the plane with him and really, he doesn't even know what the issue is himself.

That's a lie, though. He does know. He just doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't even want to think it, to _acknowledge_ it. Instead, he turns his phone off, properly off so the Instagram cache is deleted and along with it maybe the memory of what he's just read.

***

The first time they'd kissed, it had been Alex to make the move.

There'd been flirting, but Mitch was flirting with everyone all of the time. He loved the attention, loved riling people up and seeing how far he could push them before they caved. They always caved. Except for Alex.

"Winner gets a kiss," Mitch had said before the race, winking at Alex and watching him blush. That blush was the cutest thing under the sun, not that Mitch would ever admit that, and it made Alex sort of his favorite guy to egg on.

Technically, neither of them won the race. But Alex hadn't looked like technicalities mattered when he'd stormed up to him after, rushing him against a set of tyres, and just pressed his lips to Mitch's for a moment.

"I didn't win."

"I know. If you had, I'd have kissed you somewhere else."

***

"Are you coming for a run?" She looks at Mitch with a smile, standing in the doorway wearing only a black sports bra and shorts. There's something in the way she looks at him, a promise maybe, and it's better than nothing, better than their weird discussions about _where this relationship is going_ over the past weeks — and certainly better than staring at his phone and re-playing Alex' latest insta story of a visit to a chocolate museum or whatever.

"Sure," he says, and it takes all of his self-control to leave his phone on the coffee table.

Mitch presses a kiss to her lips on his way out the door and she huffs a laugh. It's nice to know that they're back on good terms, and some awful part of him is happy for the distraction she provides. It's more than that, he tells himself. He loves her. Almost two years now.

Only he's known Alex longer than that.

***

None of this went according to plan.

There was this blissful moment, these few wonderful months during which Mitch thought everything was going to work itself out. Winning in Rome on the weekend that Alex had his first race as his teammate and coming on finally _being single_ felt like a fucking sign from the stars. Mitch has had his fair share of champagne in his life, but fuck it, if the champagne he'd kissed off Alex' mouth that night wasn't the best he'd ever had.

He remembers the breathy sighs, the tight grip of Alex' hands, the affirmations in Mitch's ears and the bruises he'd taken home the next day. He also quite clearly remembers thinking that this was _it_, this was their chance to do everything right that they had gotten wrong before.

But, of course, that's not how it happened at all.

***

The stabbing pain dulls to a constant ache.

Alex is enough of an attention whore that he posts stories every damn day and Mitch is so far gone that he watches them, over and over again, until some distraction drops into his lap. Or crawls into it, like right now, when his very happy girlfriend is straddling him.

"Happy second anniversary," she whispers and kisses him. It's easy to get lost in her, in the familiarity of her skin, her scent, the way she moves. Mitch knows her reactions like the back of his hand, knows to kiss the spot behind her ear to make her giggle, knows to grab her thighs to pull her closer for a gasp. He loves these little things, loves knowing that he _knows_ and it gives him a sense of power he usually doesn't have.

She likes being in charge, likes having the reins on this relationship and it's too easy to give all of that to her. He lets her ride him on the couch, his phone just out of reach on the cushion but still on his mind and for the first time in maybe ever he can't quite get his brain to focus. He buries his face in her neck, sucks a bruise into the skin that he knows she will be pissed at him for later, but it's absolutely necessary for him to not call out the wrong name when he comes.

***

Things got messy.

Races and trainings and press stuff and things not going according to plan and fuck, suddenly it was June and Mitch still hadn't managed to have _the talk_ with his girlfriend. He wanted to do it right this time, didn't want to go behind someone's back with Alex anymore. He wanted all of it, the whole shebang, at least as far as two racing drivers could ever be allowed to have it.

Maybe not having girlfriends while shoving their hands down each other's pants was a good start for that. He'd thought about it every time Alex had sighed and moaned and whispered Mitch's name, but there just wasn't a good time to do it, to say it, to make the promise that was always right on the tip of Mitch's tongue.

He'd said it once, of course. "I'm breaking up with her."

Alex had kissed him then, roughly, and stroked him faster and yeah, in hindsight, maybe _right before an orgasm_ is not the time to make any promises to the person who's giving it to you.

But it was the truth. Mitch was going to break up with her, maybe she was even going to break up with him first, the way they were going. Just … not now. He was fighting for a damn championship, after all. He could get this thing with Alex sorted later.

***

It's Alex' birthday and he isn't picking up his phone. James takes one look at Mitch and reaches for the tequila.

***

Mitch loves bruises. At least the ones Alex gives him.

They're a testament to the urgency, the _want_, and Mitch misses them when they've faded and they haven't had time to renew them.

There was a moment right after Bern, right after a podium for Mitch, when Alex had cornered him in the hotel and Mitch _almost_ asked. But Alex hadn't looked like he wanted to talk, instead he'd kissed Mitch in a way that left no room for words. Only one sentence.

"Keep your hands above your head."

It had felt like Alex was worshipping him, congratulating him on his race, saying all the things with his hands and his mouth and his cock that neither one of them could say out loud with words. He'd been all over Mitch, _in_ Mitch, eating up all of the sounds Mitch couldn't hold back and pouring his own moans into him.

_I love you_, Mitch had almost said and he'd been sure the words were somewhere in Alex' touches as well.

***

"You wanna come for a run, bro?"

"Fuck off." Hangovers are the fucking worst. Mitch's mouth feels like something crawled into it and died there, his head threatening to explode. James laughs on the other end of the phone and Mitch hangs up, but not before mumbling a few more expletives his mother would frown upon.

It was the damn photo. Alex just had to post it, smiling with _her_ and Mitch had lost it again. Just how James managed to get up this morning after the amount of alcohol they'd had the night before, Mitch will never know.

His phone rings again, the bastard is probably out to torture him. Without checking, he rejects the call. When it rings again, he turns it off entirely and drops it onto the carpet next to the bed.

Why can't he just die here in peace?

***

On Mitch's birthday, Alex had called. They'd been busy, too busy to meet up when they'd just seen each other the weekend before and, well, Mitch's attention had been pulled in all directions with so many people wanting to talk to him. Sometimes, having a large family is terribly inconvenient.

Alex promised to make it up to Mitch. And Mitch had believed him.

***

There's a knock on the door that sounds like someone is trying to break in. It's too loud, too obnoxious to be anyone else but James, really, so Mitch doesn't bother taking the toothbrush out of his mouth as he opens the door.

"You've got some nerve, mate." It's not James.

"I, uh–" Mitch is staring at Alex – tall wonderful Alex in a white shirt and dark pants – who looks exactly like Mitch was hoping he'd look _ages ago_ in front of his apartment. He's hallucinating for sure now.

"You're going to let me in." It's not a question on Alex' part, and Mitch doesn't even need to step aside as he squeezes past Mitch into the apartment. "I got your message. Thanks for that."

Mitch finally manages to uproot his feet from the floor and runs to the bathroom to at least get rid of the toothpaste. He tries to avoid looking in the mirror, but damn, he looks like shit. Of course he does, when Alex looks like some faerie prince.

"I'm sorry," Mitch says when he comes back into the living room. "I tried calling, but you were out or something and then I was out. With James. And you know how he is and–" Alex looks at him with one eyebrow raised, studies him and probably notices the bags under Mitch's eyes. There's a curious look on his face and it takes a moment before he pulls his mouth into a half smile.

"You don't remember."

"What?"

Alex chuckles, but it doesn't sound happy. He rubs at his eyes and shakes his head and, what day is it today, even, isn't Alex supposed to be in London or something? "You left me a voicemail."

"I did?" Shit. Fuck. What? Oh no. Mitch doesn't remember a voicemail. Mitch doesn't remember much of anything apart from the headache and the photo and the bitter taste of tequila and, oh fuck. "How bad is it?"

"Let's just say it's a good thing I listened to it while I was alone."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Alex sighs. He looks tired. "You didn't pick up your phone. It had me worried."

"I thought it was James." Mitch doesn't miss the slight flicker across Alex' face. He's leaning against the wall for support, watching Alex at the opposite end of the room, pacing.

"You can't leave messages like that, Mitch. You just can't. You can't call and tell me to leave my girlfriend. It's not ..."

"I'm breaking up with mine," Mitch hears himself say.

"Don't." It's like a slap in the face. Worse, in the stomach. "I'm not."

"Why not?"

"You know why. It's not a good idea." _It's not a good idea_ is code, Mitch just knows it. Alex doesn't need to say _I don't like you like that_, doesn't need to say _we need to stop doing this_. It's written all over his face.

"Right." Mitch takes a breath, and of course the air smells like Alex. "I'm going to go throw up. That last tequila shot was rancid."

He locks the bathroom door behind himself, which is stupid because it's not like Alex is going to follow him. And now he's here, hiding like the pathetic lovesick idiot he is, hungover and really not feeling up to having this conversation. Or _any_ conversation, really, he just wants to go back to sleep.

Maybe he really is going to be sick.

There's commotion outside the bathroom door, steps to the left and right of it, up and down the hallway. Mitch slides down the wall, presses his head against the cold tiles and listens, tells himself he'll get up in five minutes and then five more minutes, five more minutes, _five fucking more minutes_.

Until the front door closes, and everything goes quiet.

Fuck.

And also, _thank fuck_.

Mitch doesn't even get up, instead he opens the bathroom while kneeling on the floor, crawls into his bedroom and climbs unseeing into his bed. The sheets smell fresh, but whatever, at least they don't smell like Alex. Alex, who left him, _literally left him_. He's feeling hot all of a sudden, his face hurts, but every move is difficult and shit, now he's crying, isn't he?

This day needs to fucking end.

There are keys in the front door, which is weird for many reasons, but not as weird as the mattress behind him dipping and then there's arms around him.

"I changed the sheets. Also went to buy some ibuprofen."

"Thanks." How chivalrous. Mitch wants to fight him, but Alex is much stronger when Mitch is feeling this hungover and really, Alex' breath on his neck makes his head feel better and when he closes his eyes, he can pretend that this is a horrible dream that he'll wake up from any minute now.

"You told me you love me," Alex says after a while. "In the voicemail. It's slurred and there's a couple of swear words in there, and it's really not how I imagined hearing it for the first time, but yeah. You said it. Out loud."

"I'm sorry," is all Mitch can think to say.

"What for?"

"I don't even remember calling you. You were busy."

"Are you apologizing for calling or for what you said?"

"Both. It's not even … I was really drunk." Alex' breath quickens and it takes a moment for Mitch to realize that he's laughing. "What's so funny?"

"You are. You're the worst liar in the history of humankind." Alex presses his lips to Mitch's neck, once, twice, and pulls Mitch closer. "You never needed to say it out loud for me to know. That's kind of the problem."

"Are you trying to be an asshole right now, Ace?"

"Your feelings are written all over your face. It wouldn't take long for everyone to know. And, damn, Mitch, you know that's just not how it works. We have jobs, we have a reputation."

"Fuck that," Mitch grunts, but he knows Alex is right. Alex is always right. "So you want to stop."

"I–" Alex sighs, nestles his face into Mitch's hair, and Mitch is really fucking pleased with himself for taking that shower earlier. "Fuck no, I don't want to stop. But we can't … It's safer this way."

"Do you love her?"

"It's a bit early in the process for that assessment. She's lovely. Funny. I think you two would get along. She's about your height, too, when she's not wearing heels."

"How nice. Maybe I need to get a girlfriend that's taller than me."

"Don't you dare. You better keep the one you have now, I like her."

Maybe it's the alcohol still roaring through his system, but Mitch is feeling sappy. "I want to keep _this one_ though," he says, squeezing Alex' arm.

Alex doesn't say anything for a while, just kisses Mitch's neck again. "You shouldn't have called me," he whispers. "You shouldn't have said what you said."

"I know."

"No, you don't. I really want to hear it again, but I can't. We can't, okay?" It's really unfair what Alex is asking, considering he's the one with the voicemail he could listen to over and over again if he wanted to. "Promise me you'll never say it again."

It's on the tip of Mitch's tongue, and he's tempted to say it just to egg Alex on, just to see how far he can push. But this is Alex, and so he swallows the words instead. "Promise."


End file.
